


Pulse

by misbegotten



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Ariadne and Arthur fucked, and one time they made love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulse

1\. At the warehouse

Ariadne has never died before. Her hands are still shaking when Arthur leans in, the spicy trace of his cologne tickling her nose. He's got his sleeves rolled up, hinting at strong biceps underneath the ironed shirt, and he seems impossibly solid and real. He puts a hand over hers and says lightly, "It gets easier."

Easier is not what she wants.

Cobb is long gone from the warehouse by the time she's grinding against Arthur's hard on, the lean embrace of one arm across her back as he pearls her nipple with his other hand. She's lost her shirt, forgone tackling his vest for fumbling with his fly as she says, "Fuck me. Make me feel it." He groans as she slides his erection free, and strips her efficiently of her trousers. He cups the soft warmth of her center, edging the silk of her panties aside and thrusts into her, punching the breath out of her.

"Too much?" he murmurs in her ear, but she shakes her head and grips his hips.

"More," she commands, and he complies.

 

2\. In a dream

Arthur is a complete and utter badass, Ariadne decides as she follows him, low to the ground to avoid their attackers. He tosses back some bit of wisdom about evading projections, but she's focused on his hands around the gun, the sharp retort of the chamber as it fires, and _jesus_ she's wet. They reach a clearing free of pursuers and he waits for a moment before shooting her a grin. "Ready to try it?" he asks.

In answer she grabs his tie and pulls him into a deep kiss, obscenely deep and dirty, and he cups his hand at the back of her neck. "We're supposed to be practicing," he says against her mouth, chiding softly, but it doesn't stop him from sliding his hand up her leg past the hem of her skirt (Arthur always puts her in skirts, damn him). He pushes her to the ground with casual efficiency and hikes her skirt up, twisting her underwear down. He parts her with his finger, his breath hot between her thighs, and then she's gripping his shoulders as he licks in. She loses herself with each touch of his tongue, muscles tightening, and then she's crashing, wave after wave pulling her down and out of the dream.

 

3\. At 30,000 feet

Sudoku won't cut it when she's just come out of the dream of a lifetime. Fischer seems to suspect nothing, his expression thoughtful and a bit dazed. Cobb's eyes are shining, so full of hope she blinks back tears. Three more hours and they'll be on the ground, and it will be over.

Ariadne doesn't know if she can stand it.

Arthur gives her a smirk, as if he's caught what she's thinking, and stands to go to the lavatory. Eames raises his eyebrows when she gets out of her chair, but she pretends not to notice.

The door of the lavatory shuts behind her and she's pressed against the thin metal wall with Arthur's teeth on her earlobe. "Want to join the Mile High Club?" he teases, and she cups his erection none too gently.

"Someone does," she retorts, and then she's got her hand down his slacks and pumps his shaft. He lets out a groan and dips his head into the curve of her shoulder.

"Ari," he says. "Let me fuck you."

If she's slightly tipsy as she goes back to her seat, she blames it on turbulence.

 

4\. In L.A.

The knock on her hotel door is hardly unexpected, and she's got the thin slippery silk of Arthur's tie between her fingers before the door closes behind him.

"I'm going to Mumbai in the morning," he says between open-mouthed kisses down her neck, pausing to suck on her collarbone.

"I'm going back to Paris," she answers, hands digging his shirt out of his pants so she can run her fingers along the planes of his back.

They leave a trail of clothes to the bed. She digs her hands into the headboard as he drives into her, then puts a finger on her clit and takes herself over the edge as he says, "Ari, Ari, Ari." Later she goes down on him in the shower, memorizing the taste of him, the way his hips jerk when she plays her tongue along his sac. He fucks her with his fingers, bruising, leaving his imprint on her.

In the morning, he's gone.

 

5\. In Paris

Two months in Paris feels like a lifetime, as if the measured time of dreamspace has leaked out of her memory and taken hold of everything around her. Her professors find her distracted but she keeps up, determined to finish her degree even if nothing feels quite real enough to be worth the effort.

She's two-thirds the way up the stairs to her apartment when she spots Arthur sitting on the landing. He has the shadow of a beard on his face and is leaning against his duffel bag, looking for all the world like a careless student. "You didn't just let yourself in?" she asks with a smile, and he stands.

"I knew you wouldn't be long," and of course he would know her schedule better than she did herself. She lets them both in, and he drops his bag in the entryway.

"There are things you should know about me," he starts. "I'm what Eames likes to call fussy."

"Meticulous," she counters, and puts her hands around his waist.

"I'm not proud of my past."

"I don't care," she says into his chest.

"I'm impossible in the morning until I've had my coffee," he says, settling his hands over her back.

"We'll work around it," she laughs, leading him to the bedroom.

They undress each other slowly, lingering, taking time to mark their favorite spots with delicate kisses. She brushes her lips against his chest, along the scar on his vein, at the juncture of his hip. He caresses her breasts, nuzzles the nipples to cherry-red attention, spans his hands along her flat stomach to the vee of her thighs.

When he enters her, it's carefully, more gentle than their usual affair, and he groans, "I could stay here forever."

"Do it," she says playfully, tightening her muscles around him. She cants her hips up, tilting to meet him, and when his thumb brushes her clit she moans his name. They come in a crescendo, and lay in silence afterward, his fingers trailing lightly across her shoulders.

Just before sleep comes, she stirs. "Staying?" she asks with a yawn, her head pillowed on his chest.

"As long as you'll have me," he answers.

The steady beat of his pulse pulls her down into dreamless sleep.


End file.
